Treasure hunt
by englishGirl042
Summary: Sherlock, John and Lestrade; a new intriguing case; an old acquaintance of Sherlocks reappearing and Molly Hooper in a place, where she never thought she would be - do I need to say more? Just read ;)


John looked across the room to the broad, black suited back, which was turned to him and sighed in exasperation, thinking of the fact that in another part of the town a very pretty date waited for him this very moment, which managed to drop his already dark mood several degrees.

"Sherlock did what?"

"He was invited to France, helping a rather talented, young Inspector."

Mycroft walked back to the two leather chairs, from out of one John raised his brows even higher.

"And this is the reason why you send you secretary and an ridiculously large Aston? To tell me of an old case?"

The leather made a soft squeak as Mycroft sat down, whiskey glass in hand and crossed his legs, his lips curling slightly.

"No, I brought you here, because we were informed only this morning that an old acquaintance of my brothers has arrived in town."

He took a sip of his glass and John frowned impatiently.

"And what do you want me to do? Collect someone from the airport?"

"John, you and I know, that the most people Sherlock is acquainted with aren`t lovely citizens on holiday, rather imprisoned killers."

John studied Mycrofts face sceptically as he took another sip. Finally he leaned forward, bracing on his knees.

"So, who is it then?"

Mycroft breathed in shortly, before answering.

"Rosalind Parker or simply "the rose" as she is more often referred as."

"And?" John couldn`t suppress the impatient tone in his voice.

"Well, she is a quite clever criminal, who kept avoiding the police forces capture for several years now. That is the very reason, why our French allies had asked for Sherlocks help-"

"Is this going somewhere? We know London hosts one or two criminals, don`t we. Sherlock got her, I suppose?"

Mycroft leaned forward slightly, fixing the annoyed doctor with his grey eyes.

"He let her escape."

John stared at him in surprise.

"He did what?"

"It`s implied to say, that she stole some of the most valuable paintings of the Louvre. This whole affair inflicted unrepairable damage to the relations between the French and our law forces."

Mycroft leaned back again, draining his glass with on final sip. With sudden realisation John narrowed his eyes, shaking his head.

"So, that's it all about. You want me to make sure Sherlock won`t let her escape again, if she steals something."

"The situation with France isn`t the best, you see. Should Miss Parker choose to pay the National Gallery a visit, I cannot make excuses for any games, my little brother might like to play. Just to inform you." He added, while he got up.

John stood up as well, thoughtful.

"Well, I fear the parliamentarians won`t wait much longer for me."

"Yes, they will. "stated John dryly.

Mycroft's lips turned into a small smile.

"Thank god, they cannot talk in here. One of the several reasons, why I invented this club."

He walked briskly to the door.

"Good afternoon, Doctor. Thanks for dropping by. Say hello to Sherlock from me."

And with a very curt nod he left, leaving John alone in the luxuriant room.

His mind reeled as he made his way out of the Diagones Club onto the street.

"Rose, who on earth is she?"

His lost date was completely forgotten.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later a coughing Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, forgot my keys- What's happened in here!"

John stared past his landlady into the hall. The strong smell of burned rubber hung in the air and smoke came down the staircase, emerging from under the upstairs flat door.

Mrs. Hudson huffed helplessly, stepping aside, so John could pass her and closed the door.

"Oh, it`s Sherlock! He is experimenting again. I better go and open the windows."

The old lady bustled away, a hand infront of her nose.

John bounded up the stairs and burst through the door. Inside the air was grey and one could hardly see the room in all the smoke. The smell of melting rubber was overwhelming.

"For god's sake! Are you mad?"he cursed, while running to the windows, ripping them open and leaned outside for oxygen. After taking a lungful of air he turned around. In the clearing smoke he found Sherlock sitting in his dressing gown at the kitchen table, which was covered in science equipment, a gasmask covering his face. The chemical tubes before him continued to smoke cheerfully until John drained them in the sink. Sherlock obviously was not happy, but the mask muffled his voice.

"Do you want to make this flat inhabitable?! If you want to move out, you could simply tell us!"

Sherlock stood up, taking the gasmask of his face and threw it onto the couch.

"Don`t be silly, why would I want to move out. And _never_ do that again, you could`ve ruined my results!"

He taxied John with a mildly accusing glare.

"So, you are finished?" John fought very hard not to grab the first thing he saw and throw it at Sherlock, who walked leisurely through the flat as though nothing had happened and they wouldn't smell like badly done marshmallows for the rest of the month.(His pretty date abruptly re-entering his mind)

"Yes, of course. Chemical analyses of cart wheels. Now I can match the wheel tracks with the gum that was used in production. Every company uses it`s very own materials, which reveal the type range of cars it can be used upon. Simple and brilliant!"

Sherlock paced the room energetically, his face glowing in delight.

John sighed in resignation and took a careful breath. The mist had cleared entirely, but the strong smell of burned rubber lingered, just as he feared it would.

"Jesus, let's hope Mrs. Hudson has some air refresher."

An hour later every inch of 221 B smelled, more or less, like "Summer meadow" and John begun to collect his few pieces of clothing, that had been in the flat and consequently smoked. Carefully he picked up his favourite black jacket from the kitchen chair and sniffed.

"Oh my –"

He immediately put it down as his eyes started to water. Apparently his clothing favourite had been lucky enough to lye right next to the chemical tubes.

Suddenly the ringing door bell, Mrs Hudson's voice and footsteps coming up the staircase caused John to stop his miserable task, several shirts and pullovers still stuffed under his arm. After a quick knock the flat door opened and Lestrades head appeared in the doorway.

"Hi there!"

"Hello Greg, what are you doing here?" John greeted him surprised, raising his brows in curiosity. The case on which they had worked on was solved thanks to certain results from a certain experiment. Normally Lestrade didn`t just drop by for a chat.

"Just wanted to give Sherlock his phone back. He borrowed it to me – _What have you two done in here_?"

He grimaced in disgust, having inhaled the odour of toilet air refresher mixed with a strong scent of grilled rubber for the first time. John dropped his pile of cloth on the couch, staring at Lestrade.

"Wait, Sherlock borrowed you his phone?"he repeated incredulously, distinctly remembering the times, when he intended to borrow Sherlocks phone and ended up having an hour long discussion with his flatmate, who wouldn`t stop deducing he was mad at his sister.

Lestrade meanwhile pressed the sleeve of his long, grey coat to his nose, coughing and pulled said phone out of his pocket.

"I`ll put it just over here. Say thanks to him from me."

His words were muffled by his sleeve, as he laid the black mobile on the table near Sherlocks

(actually Johns) laptop.

"Yeah, I will." John responded automatically, still fixing Greg with a disbelieving glance.

"He really borrowed you his phone." he stated slowly.

Lestrade just nodded, looking around.

"Maybe you should try some air refresher." He suggested in a strained voice behind his coat sleeve.

"We have – so did he say anything? Anything unusual?"John inquired with frown.

Lestrade shook his head, raising his free arm in goodbye.

"Gotta go. No he didn`t, - he probably just had a good day. You know how much he likes serial killers. See ya."

And with that he bounded down the stairs, rushing for the front door.

John walked over to close the door, then he slowly crossed his arms infront of his chest thoughtfully. Worries entering his mind, chasing away his irradiation.

Sherlock didn`t just have good days, that simply wasn`t the way it worked, was it?

* * *

Hey there! I really hope you like it. Next capter is hopefully coming up soon, so let me know what you think! Constructiv critisism always appreciated =)

English girl


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